


drunk and high but not a spy

by cornchippo



Category: GOT7
Genre: Adorable, Crack, Cuddles, Drunk Jackson, Fluff, Kinda bad, M/M, Mark's POV, Same universe, What's new, a kind of weird limbo of half-feelings but its all good, alcohol use, almost none of that good good, also read this but dont hate me, anyway i was soft while writing this, but even they are soft, but i have something better coming soon so dw, but if you can't get that from the title u r a moron, but it's adorable, but kinda good, but not all, but some grinding, crazy jackson, i will write more cuddles, idk who would top it's open interpretation, if u read this remember the next one is going to be billion times better, its gonna be a longer fic, jackson is off his head, jackson is wearing fendi, like weirdly written, markson, mentions rihanna, really soft, sleepy, so get pumped, soft, some feelings acknowledged, some really really mild drug references, tiny little sad moments, wow i didn't write smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 01:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16007069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornchippo/pseuds/cornchippo
Summary: Mark misses Jackson and so goes over to his apartment. He finds Jackson drunk, probably high, and also discovers that he lives in a goddamn spy apartment and various adventures ensue.





	drunk and high but not a spy

It's 12:34 am.

Mark is so tired, but it's the type of drowsiness that is too heavy to even indulge the possibility of sleep. He had tried everything, sleeping on his left side, sleeping on his right side, drinking a glass of warm milk, drinking a glass of chamomile tea, even fucking listening to asmr, but he suspected that the problem wasn’t how he was sleeping, but rather who he was sleeping without.

It had been a while since Jackson moved out. It was weird. The dorm was quieter, for one. There were also more cats. Mark couldn’t say that he didn’t enjoy the peace and quiet, but it was nights like these that made him feel a little empty. Like something was missing. He didn’t really know what to do. He knew that his inability to sleep was probably a manifestation of him missing Jackson, but he wasn’t sure what to do with that information. Did he just call him? But then what? Did he say that he was missing him? And even then, would Jackson invite him over? Did he want to go over? The questions were endless. Besides, Jackson and he aren’t as close as they were a few years ago. Is Mark even friendly enough with him that he could ask to go over and expect a positive reply?

Mark mulls over his options until it is 1:32 am and he has already fumbled around for sweats and a hoodie. He pulls them on as he makes his way to the living room, fumbling around for the keys in the dark before saying “fuck it” and turning on the lights, risking waking the others. He finds the keys and hurriedly opens the door before leaving the building and going to get the car, hoping that his manager won't need it too early on in the morning. The streets of Seoul are quiet, Mark notices, but then again, it's almost 2 in the morning and no one except for the lonely people are on the roads.

Mark, still driving, gets out his phone (illegally) and checks Jackson’s address before realising that he never ended up calling the younger boy to actually tell him that he was going to come over.  
A few minutes later and Mark finds a parking spot outside of Jackson’s place and gets out of the car, walking up to the door before hesitating, finger on the buzzer.  
What the hell, Mark thinks. He was my best friend when I needed one the most. He’s not gonna judge me for being lonely. We’ve been there before.  
He presses the buzzer, waits for a bit, presses it again, waits a little bit longer, remembering that 'it’s 2 am in the morning and oh my god I’m so stupid its a Sunday night he’s sleeping after rehearsals or in the studio or out at who-knows-where and like an idiot I've come and rung the buzzer twice what if someone sees oh my god I know what this looks like what will the shippers think god its probably already trending on twitter what have I done what have I-'

Jacksons sleep-inflicted voice interrupts his spiral of anxiety.

“uhwhois't?”

“Uhm… Mark?”

“Are you sure?” Jackson’s sleepy laugh follows his own joke, and Mark shakes his head softly, smiling at Jackson’s jacksonness, even so late (early?) in the night.

Mark, too caught up in appreciating the dumb joke, realises that he never answered the question, and rushes to press the buzzer again to tell Jackson that, yes, it is, in fact, him, Mark. But before mark can do any buzzing, Jackson's voice filters out of the tinny speaker, sounding a little more unsure, probably due to Mark’s silence.

“Hey, uh, I was just kidding. Ummm. Did you wanna come up?”

“Yeh.”

The door unlocks and Mark walks into the lobby before sleepily stumbling into the elevator and riding up to Jackson’s floor. When he gets to his room, he stands outside for a few seconds before knocking. When the door swings open he sees Jackson in his Fendi sweatpants with not much else on, and has to giggle at his ridiculousness before noticing that Jackson is, in fact, roaringly drunk. He steps back a little, not really expecting this due to the extremely short mini-conversation they held earlier through the apartment’s buzzer system.

“Mark! Holllaaaaaaaa! When did you decide to get here?” Jackson says, swaying slightly in the doorway.

“Uhh,” Mark says, slightly shocked but very amused, “You buzzed me up, like, 2 seconds ago.”

“Did I? Maaaaan thats craaaaazy!” Jackson has a stupid grin on his face that mark kinda wants to murder but also preserve forever. “Well, come on in man! The party’s just..” His sentence falls asleep as he tries to regain his train of thought. “Just… Starting! Starting.”

Mark walks in and follows Jackson into his apartment, trailing a few steps behind and trying to figure out where Jackson is taking him.

“Hey Jackson?”

“Just… just… starting! Hey Mark! The party’s just starting!”

Mark is in awe of Jackson’s drunkenness. How someone could manage to get so hammered on a Sunday night, he does not know. How Jackson hasn’t gotten alcohol poisoning or at the very least blacked out, he doesn’t know either.

“Yeh, jacks, you said that.” Mark says, with a small smile. "But, uhh, where are we going?”

“We are going to the CELLAR. FOR ALCOHOL.”

Mark is kind of worried because A) he didn’t even know Jacksons apartment was big enough to house a cellar; B) Jackson accentuated the words so aggressively and loudly, yet without any sort of excitement, that he isn’t sure if he should be expecting a dead body down there; and C) Mark really doesn’t think that Jackson should ingest any more alcohol in the next year or so.

“Hey, Jackson, buddy.” He starts off delicately, aware that Jackson is probably too drunk to understand the concept of self-control at the moment. “I might be wrong, but I really don’t think that you should be drinking anymore tonight. If that’s okay.” He adds.

Jackson skips back until he can sling his arm around mark’s shoulders.

“Not for me silly! For YOU!”

Mark winces, Jackson’s energetic vocal chords just a bit too strong for his left eardrum.

“Here we are! My cellar!!!!!!!” Jackson says, very excitedly.

“Okay. Cool. Nice cellar man.” Mark is facing a bookshelf and is now considering calling 911.

Jackson giggles. “Silly BOY! That’s a BOOKSHELF! Not a CELLAR!”

“Yeh, okay.” Mark is starting to get a little bit fed up with Jackson's shouting. “That’s nice and all, but I really just came to-“

Jackson cuts him off by lunging for a book a little above his head and pulling on it viciously, before watching it tumble to the ground.

“Oops. Wrong one.” Jackson does this three more times until Mark is ready to find a bucket of water and pour it over the younger boy’s head. He’s wrecking the goddamn mini-library that sober Jackson probably took time to organise!

But just as Mark starts creeping towards the door, Jackson yells “GOTCHA!” and pulls another book, this one almost stupidly high up, and a loud creaking sound comes from beyond the bookshelf. To Mark’s astonishment, the bookshelf begins to rotate, revealing a whole other section of the apartment.  
“Holy shit,” Mark whispers, while being dragged (unsuccessfully) towards the rotating door which has stopped halfway to allow them to walk through. “This is some spy-movie shit right here.”

When both boys have walked through into the hidden area of the apartment, Mark turns to Jackson.

“What the fuck bro?" Mark says, but really thinking "Why was that book so high?" (For a little dwarf-man it seems kind of stupid to put it so high.)  
Jackson just stares at him with a wise, knowledgable look that only the super-drunk can have, and Mark wants to slap it right off of his dumb-ass face.

“Well?” Mark says, annoyed at Jackson’s stupid nodding wise-man stare. Jackson leans in, so his lips are almost touching Mark’s ear, before whispering:

“Nora,”

And leaning out with an extremely self-assured gaze, like he figured out how to talk to God or some shit. Mark doesn’t know what he was expecting. Jackson is so far gone that he has probably forgotten how to spell his own name, let alone how he acquired a fucking James Bond apartment.

All of a sudden, Jackson jumps out of his wisdom-induced reverie and brings his attention back to what is possibly the most important thing in his life right now: getting to the cellar.  
“C’mon hyung we gotta go!!!” Jackson grabs Mark’s hand and zooms through what seems to be a home cinema, an A grade kitchen, a disco floor (seriously, what even) and a massage room before going down a set of stairs and arriving in the cellar, where rows and rows of aged wines, whiskeys rum, beers and other forms of hard liquor such as tequila and vodka. Jackson finally stops running when they come to a small bench in the cellar, and Mark can’t help but think that Jackson might have had to be a little sad, drinking in the back of the cellar, alone in this huge apartment. He then sees a bottle of Absolut Vodka opened, with about half of the bottle downed. Jesus Christ! Mark thinks. Man, I knew he drank, but half a fucking bottle?!

Meanwhile, Jackson has gotten a speaker from god-knows-where and has synced up his phone to play Hello by SHINee and at this point Mark has begun to suspect that he’s high as well. How one person can be so fucking wack after a night of drinking, Mark does not know.

“Maaaaaarkkkkkkkkkkk. Dance with ME!!! Listen to the music man! Doesntitsoundamazzziiiinggg??? DANCE!” Jackson is dancing/swaying in the corner looking like he’s having the time of his life, and Mark goes over to dance with him purely to make sure that he doesn’t fall over, and not because he looks so adorable that his heart might burst. Nothing like that.

Regardless, Mark goes over to dance. His movements are stiff and tense as he makes his way to the younger boy, not sure if he should be dancing or getting Jackson sober. But before he can make a better decision, Jackson turns and notices him, face lighting up like a Christmas tree. For the first time all night, Jackson is silent, putting his arms on Mark’s shoulders in a sort of best-bro-slow-dance type thing. For Mark, it's a little bit awkward, but Jackson seems like he’s completely at ease, which, judging by his intoxicated state, he very well might be.

When the song ends, Mark goes to step away, feeling a bit like a huge, boiling volcano full of soft feelings and a lot of internal conflict, but before he can move, the song changes and fucking Sex With Me by Rihanna comes on. Mark immediately knows that this is a bad, bad, bad idea because Jackson is a fucking sex beast on a normal day. It won’t help that he's completely drunk (and probably high) and also listening to Rihanna songs, which everyone knows are fucking sex-steroids. Mark is proved correct when he feels the shift in the atmosphere. He can see Jackson’s eyes go from being at ease to wanting something, and it’s intimidating to say the least to be the thing that Jackson wants. It’s not doing much for his personal emotions either, as yeh, sure, there's been some pretty gay looks and touches that the fans have picked up on (and made into popular gifsets which he’d obsessed over, wondering if it was a bromance thing or an I’d-choke-on-your-dick kind of thing) but he didn’t know if Jackson was actually into guys or a bit into guys or just so-horny-that-it-doesn't-matter into guys. He didn’t let himself consider that it could be him that Jackson was into because it would probably result in not-good things. Or very good things, but Mark wasn’t willing to take that chance.

When Jackson gets closer, he wants to run, but he feels stuck, pinned by Jackson’s intense (still drunk) gaze.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck his brain screams. Unfortunately, it seems like Jackson’s dick is screaming the same thing. When Jackson finally closes the distance and decides to grind on Mark's left thigh, he knows that it's time to put a stop to this.

“Jackson.” Silence, except for his murmurs of the lyrics ("I know, I know, I make it hard to let go/tonight, all night, I'ma roll”). He knows that the younger is ignoring him, continuing to grind on his leg while tossing his head back. Mark is in such deep shit. Does Jackson know how good he looks right now, with a thin sheen of sweat on his face, making him look like a goddamn angel, and his dark hair matted all sexily? Not to mention he still doesn’t have a shirt on, and mark can visibly see drips of sweat running down his chest. What the fuck Jackson???? But despite the fact that he has a living wet dream right in front of him, Mark has had enough.

“Jackson.” No answer.

“Jackson,” slightly louder, “listen to me.”

Still nothing.

Mark sighs, gripping the arms on his shoulders and taking them off so that they are pinned at Jackson's sides. The younger boy looks up and huffs in protest, finally creating some space between the two of them but not looking very happy about it. He tries to wriggle out of Mark’s grasp but is only successful in frustrating Mark even more.

“Yah! Jackson! Stop!” The younger finally comes to a halt, looking defeated. It’s silent for a moment longer before Mark lets go of his arms and puts a hand around Jackson’s shoulder.

“It’s time to get you to bed.”  
The younger says nothing, just resting his head on Mark’s shoulders.

“Okay.” He replies, staying quiet after that.

Mark curses, not quite sure how to get out of the labyrinth that is Jackson’s apartment. He eventually finds the way into the other apartment and sits Jackson down on the lounge, going off to get a few glasses of water and a towel. He comes back to find Jackson still awake, but looking much worse for wear. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin has an unhealthy greyish-green pallor and the sexy sheen of sweat has now turned into a damp, clammy mess. Mark stands over him with a sigh, already feeling bad for what he has to do.

“Sorry man.”  
Jackson appears not to register what Mark says until it’s too late, and Mark’s hand has gotten the tall glass of water and emptied it all over the younger boy's head.

“Bro!” Jackson exclaims, shaking his head like a shaggy dog and delivering a pointed, angry look up at Mark.

“Sorry,” he says again with a shrug, “You’re more sober now.”

“Yeh, well,” Jackson begins dryly, “Having a raging boner get killed off and getting water poured on your head will do that to a guy.”

Mark fidgets, ears turning red. So, he thinks, we're gonna talk about this. His awkwardness, however, seems to go unnoticed by Jackson, who has entered the alcohol low of the night and is therefore not really caring about the atmosphere. Mark, upon realising this, sits down on the armchair to the side of the lounge and sits, thinking.

“Why were you so…?” Mark struggles for words.

“Drunk? High?” Jackson says, finishing the sentence for him.

“…yeh. That.”

Jackson sits in silence for a bit, looking nothing like the ecstatic boy that danced in the cellar with him just a few minutes ago, but everything like the slightly wistful, slightly numb man that sits at the table (drinking vodka, coincidentally) in his Okay M/V. They sit in silence for so long that Mark forgets that he asked a question in the first place.

“I was lonely, I guess. Felt lonely.”

Mark pauses for a bit, pondering the information that Jackson just gave him, outside looking every bit like the ice prince, but inside, gears whirring, wondering if Jackson was missing having people around or him specifically. Jackson starts up the conversation again.

“Why did you come?” He states, quite bluntly, leaving Mark a little confused at whether there was an accusation disguised in that question.

“I guess I was lonely too.”

The words hang in the air, full of meaning. Mark wonders whether it was the right choice to come here. Only when the sky begins to lighten Mark realises how long he’s been at Jackson’s for, and gets up to leave.

“Kay bro, I’m gonna head off, leave you to get some sleep.”

Jackson’s eyes shoot open. “No. Stay.” He says, slightly like a child.

“But we have practice tomorrow. Today, actually.”

“Let’s skip. Please? You could crash here,” Jackson whines, seemingly leaving his alcohol-induced state of depression. Mark considers for a moment, weighing up his options. It’s either go back to the dorm, have a shower, get 30 minutes of sleep and then go into practice, or crash with Jackson and take the day off, lazing around.  
It’s not a hard choice.

Jackson eventually gets off the lounge, still unsteady on his feet, and Mark rushes over where he slings Jackson’s arm over his shoulder. They walk to Jackson’s room, and it’s obvious that they’ll both be in the double, just like old times. Surprisingly, Mark doesn’t feel uncomfortable, but then again, sleeping on opposite sides of the bed is nothing compared to being grinding buddies like they were a few hours ago. Jackson’s body is hot against his, and when he pulls away to flop onto the bed Mark feels the absence. He takes off his hoodie, leaving his singlet on underneath and collapses onto the bed as well. Once both under the covers, Mark finally realises how tired he is and sleep is upon him almost immediately, but first, he moves a bit closer to Jackson, so both boys are cradled around each other, soft and sleepy.

“G’night bro,” slurs Mark, already half asleep, “ i’luv you.”

“Love you too,” Jackson says, sounding just as sleepy as Mark.

Mark’s last coherent thought before succumbing to the surging tiredness is that those might be the truest words he’d ever said.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was me desperately trying to resurrect markson as it is a dying ship and I don't know how to deal with that. Also Jackson was never meant to be drunk or high and this was meant to be a cuddle fic but look what happened. i love how it turned out tho so oh well!!! and also jackson just happened to own a cool apartment and i really don't know where that came from but it's awesome ngl.
> 
> APARTMENT LAYOUT
> 
> Anyway jackson lives in a building surrounded by other buildings that are practically on top of each other, and jackson owns half a floor. But, his apartment building has one secret connecting floor to another building, and jackson owns that too. the bookshelf is the door between the regular flat and the extension. jackson can travel down stairs because in the second building, he owns half the floor below that too, and can travel down stairs. The damn boy rich.


End file.
